Every Lesson I Have Ever Learned
by OverMaster
Summary: What had gone wrong? He supposed it was useless wondering what had gone wrong with him, that was not something he would ever consider. Instead, what had gone wrong with his perfectly simple scheme? Of course, he had to know, even if only for future reference. After all, he was not a storybook villain. He could not let himself go down over it. Because he was better than that. Right?


_Frozen_ and all related elements and characters belong to The Walt Disney Company. I'm not making any money out of this.

Warnings for mildly strong, offensive language.

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**EVERY LESSON I HAVE EVER LEARNED**.

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It was useless to despair over things when you failed, no matter how disastrously.

In the stories he had enjoyed so much during his childhood, the villain would always do exactly that; as soon as their evil plans were foiled, the villains would break down into despair, lamenting about their cruel hate and lashing out madly before their final defeat. Ever since, Hans had learned, the difficult way, things were not a simple, that you could not divide people between heroes and villains, which did suit him just fine; however, that basic lesson still remained firmly fixed into his mindset; raging over your adversity, self-brought or not, never amounted to anything. So he might as well just sit down and carefully analyze what had just happened for future reference.

He wasn't sure any of what had happened was his fault, and he felt quite sure on it not being just typical villainous denial, either; he probably had left some vulnerable open points in his scheme, but under the circumstances, that was the best he could make out of the situation. Circumstances he could not foresee had escalated beyond his control, that was all. Who would ever have believed a living snowman could have factored in to foil him? The point that kept bugging him in the back of his mind was leaving Anna alone but still alive, when she still could (and did!) escape, but what else could he have done then? For a moment, he had considered suffocating the idiotic girl with a cushion, which would have been incredibly satisfying, much better than any wedding night could ever be, but even those simpletons might have noticed it after the fact. Ah, he thought now, perhaps poisoning her would have worked. After all, they all had known she had been dying. No one would have thought twice about checking for another cause of death, much less of linking him to it. Still, how could he have known?

_Well, expect for the unexpected, Hans,_ he thought as he relaxed his back against the hard cold wall, crossing his legs. _And prepare for the impossible_.

Maybe the delicious thought of leaving her alone to a slow, painful death filled with regrets had undone him. But he indulged himself so little, so scarcely! Almost constantly, he had to play his part. It was truly frightening gor him, realizing he had been himself for such short bursts, all to please the watchful eyes of his family constantly looming over him. They were always looking for an excuse to do away with him, as things stood; revealing himself as he truly was would only have made them quicker and bolder at it. So Hans had to endure, with a gracious smile and an affable, helpful attitude, day after night and night after day, for years, and although he had grown accustomed to it, the shallow routine of such a life was even more opressive than his brothers' heels.

But of course, dwelling on that was also pointless.

Still, it related to the situation waiting for him at the Islands, and _that_ could not be quite ignored at all. He would be actively treated as a disgrace and threat to the family's good name this time, instead of being only passively treated as such. He doubted he would have to endure a judgement, since that would require a public admission of his involvement, but there were other, subtler, more dangerous ways they could select to deal with him. Maybe, even as soon as now...

He eyed the small plate set before him and dismissed the notion. No, it still was too soon for that. They would want to receive a full report on the situation first, confirm his guilt, discuss it amongst themselves, and God or what passed for Him knew they never could agree on anything that quickly. Still, he took a small piece of the meal and placed it on the floor, waiting in ambush with a bowl in his hand. Trap the rat, wait for it to eat, see if it survived. He had so much practice with it by now, he usually caught the rats in his first attempt at that point.

He smiled for himself, at that. As soon as he got the upper hand over his brothers, and he would, someday, he was convinced of that, he would make sure their cells would be pristine clean. His people would acclaim him over his magnanimous treatment of the betrayers to the country and the legacy of the royal house, not that it would stop the ingrates from killing themselves, of course.

Because they would not have rats, and of course they never would endure hunger the way he could.

So, what had gone wrong, then, and what could he learn from it? Not for the first time, Hans considered a helper, a minion, a loyal henchman, might have been a valuable asset then. He always could have had him kill Anna, then pin the whole blame on him. An overly zealous (or even jealous) little minded man thinking he was doing the best for his master's sake. Poor Anna. And poor simple minded right hand man, a victim himself of his own blind devotion... The problem being, of course, he did not trust anyone to be loyal to him over his brothers, and frankly, he preferred being a single man operation in proccess anyway. In his childhood stories, the villain would always have a dim witted loyal minion to provide comic relief, but those always turned out hindrances in the long run, and in that regard, Hans was of the opinion the art imitated real life. An accomplice would have to be either stupid enough to side with the underdog, or treacherous enough to only pretend so. Neither was a particularly appealing option.

Whatever he would gain from life, he would have to earn it through his own merits. He would not share that honor with anyone else, not even in his own mind.

Maybe he should have humored her in her last moments, kissed her, then placed the blame on a faulty prophecy when that would not work? In hindsight, that would have been wise, perhaps. Of course, it would have meant he would not have seen the pain on her face upon being rejected. She would die with a disappointed heart, naturally, but not because HE had broken it. She would have died believing on him, and the mere idea disgusted him. He had wanted to see her suffering, and then to think about it even after leaving her, based on his own treatment of her, because, once again, that was the most sublime of the pleasures, and the one he had been denied so often, for so long. Playing the considerate, good hearted gentleman was his shield and armor, and he could not shed it, not even now, but it also meant he could not be himself. All he had wanted, right then and there, was being himself just that once. Why did he have to imagine he would be foiled because of that?

Ah well, the sweet memories of those moments would have to suffice him for a long while, because now he would have to play that act to its most for the foreseeable future. Deny anything and everything. He only had tried to stab a witch in the back to save a whole country, and perhaps, eventually, the world. They should be rewarding him! Make sure his version was heard by the masses. Play them against Arendelle, exploit their fears of the unknown. What the Queen's subjects knew, his wouldn't have to know. They had no evidence against him, regardless, did they? About what had happened in that room, it was a princess' word against a prince's. She had been weak, probably delirious. Maybe- _maybe_- there was even no malice in her version. Yes. That was an angle he could work with.

One of his sides itched. Fleas. He hated fleas. He was not used enough to them to endure them with any semblance of good humor. Oh, the indignity, a favored son of the Islands, submitted to such mistreatment. Arandelle would have to offer serious explanations and apologies about it at its due time. The Duke could not be too happy either. Perhaps the old fool could be an useful instrument as soon as both of them regained their political footing. While Hans still was not willing to use a close minion's help, political alliances were a different thing, and absolute necessities in politics.

Long, dark and cold days and nights would wait for him. _Let them come,_ he thought, resolve steeling. Life always found a way. This time, probabilities had favored them, somehow, but the thing to keep in mind abour probabilities was how much, and how quickly, they could change. All he had to know was biding his time, learning his lessions, and taking them to his heart.

The rat took the bait. With a single, swift motion, Hans slammed the bowl on it, trapping it, smiling as he opened a hole on its top with his knife, just big enough for it to breathe. Then he placed a wooden plank on the bowl, leaving the hole untouched, and sat back to wait, again.

He scratched himself on a flank.

Staring ahead, quietly, into the darkness, he thought back to those stories from his childhood, the ones who had inspired him to write his own, ones that had even gotten fair reviews when published under his pseudonym. He knew his talents reached even in tht direction, and it was pleasant knowing literature, at the very least, could appreciate him without knowing of his clean royal facade. It was amusingly ironic, how being a faceless commoner allowed him to be truer to himself than being the Prince of the Islands he had been born, raised and groomed to be. Making fictional beings suffer was not quite as satisfying as the real thing, but knowing his tragedies made simple ones weep was enough of a solace. And yet, those lesser beings enjoyed it as well, so were not they, in their own way, just the same as it? The difference being they had not had Hans' plans or his moments of exact, unpredictable bad fortune, which was the only reason why he was there then, and not them.

For now, at the very least.

Over the next few days, he would be gracious and thankful to his sailors and jailers. He calculated he would be allowed dinner with the Captain before his trip's end, and he would leave a good impression on him. 'This fellow, after all, only thought he was doing the right thing. Perhaps the crown made haste with its decision'. As a matter of fact, they even had allowed him keeping his knife, to start with, so they had to be lenient enough with him beyond the fact they knew he never could defeat one of his jailers even if they happened to be unarmed. Or so they thought, at least. It was irrelevant either way, because by the end of his long, cold way to his even colder destination, he would have charmed them. It was his thing, after all. Only that stubborn family of his knew him well enough to resist it. **_Damn them_**.

He scratched himself again.

He really _hated_ fleas.

But despairing over that was pointless, as well.

He sat there with applomb and dignity, all class and calm under misfortune.

A true Prince.

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_-FINIS-_


End file.
